


Sick Days with Gram and Pap

by ChroniclesOfJan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Grandparents & Grandchildren, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying my best, Inktober 2020, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV First Person, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Short & Sweet, Sick Character, Sick Fic, no beta we die like men, throw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChroniclesOfJan/pseuds/ChroniclesOfJan
Summary: That old throw blanket was the bane of the entire family's existence. It was old, it was itchy, and it was just plain ugly. But when a grandkid is sick, it may be just what the doctor ordered.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Inktober 2020 - Hallmark Types





	Sick Days with Gram and Pap

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a bit off, but I'm going to blame it on the two year old I am trying to wrangle to bed while also writing. I'm really trying guys. Enjoy Day 9: Throw.

Everyone has that one ugly thing in their house that they just can’t bear to part with. For some people it’s a ceramic plate that belonged to someone’s great-great-great-great-great- something. For others it could be a limited edition Weird Al Yankovic album. 

At my grandparent’s house, it was my great-grandmother’s hand-knitted throw blanket. Back when it was first knit, it probably was a gorgeous combination of lemon yellow and maroon, but now, after years of washes, and kids, and  _ life _ , gran-gran’s blanket was a combination of reddish-brown and puke-yellow. It’s soft wool is really more scratchy than anything, and it shrank a bit to the point that I couldn’t fully stretch out underneath it.

But Pap loved that scratchy old thing. It always reminded him of when he was younger. Of his years in the old wood cabin in the hills of West Virginia. Of lazy Sundays after church and before Sunday dinner. Of his mother, who was the one who created it in the first place.

Now, some 60-something years later, he still liked to use it to nap with, although now it usually was used to sleep off Sunday dinner, instead of a quick rest inbetween. 

There was one time when I was little where I had the  _ worst _ flu of my 10-year-old life. I was chilled, coughing, sneezing, vomiting, and couldn’t sleep to save my life. And the worst part? My parents were out of the country. 

It was a 10th anniversary gift from my aunts and uncles, and I was left with my grandparents for an extended weekend.

Friday morning I was playing out in the dirt with a stick, all a kid really needed, right? I ate a big lunch of goulash with my gram and pap, with buttered bread and cottage cheese. After lunch, Gram and I both went back to the living room for an afternoon nap. Suddenly I was jerked awake and barely made it in time to vomit my entire stomach into the toilet. By the time my offering to the porcelain gods were complete, Gram had been woken up and was holding my hair back for me.

Gram cleaned up the toilet as I washed my mouth out into the sink. She told me to wait by the toilet while she sets up the couch for me. After a few minutes she returned and shuffled me back to the couch, where she had a sheet laid out for me and a trashcan within arm’s reach. Some cartoon was put on the TV and I was told to just lay still while the medicine took effect.

I stayed like that for a day and a half, and by the wee hours of Sunday morning, I was near delirious from my lack of sleep and holding down nothing more than saltines and 7up. As I sat there sniffling and basically suffering with nothing but George Lopez reruns to keep my company, I heard Pap shuffling around in his bedroom. The bedroom door creaked open, and Pap shuffled by, not even glancing at me as he made his 3am bathroom run. 

Returning from his very important mission, he seemed more aware and stopped to look at me in the living room.

“Firefly, why are you awake?”

“I can’t sleep!” I whined, completely done with the whole being sick thing. He grunted at me.

“One seconds kiddo.” Pap shuffled again towards his bedroom, but returned a few minutes later with a pillow and that old worn throw blanket. 

Rearranging ourselves, Pap turned off the TV and sat down on the couch, directing me to put my pillow on his lap. He tossed the old throw over me and began to hum and he stroked my hair. 

“Just shut your eyes Firefly, I’ll be right here.” He returned to stroking my sweat-soaked hair, and for the first time, that old blanket almost felt...soft. 

And finally, I fell asleep.


End file.
